


Timshel

by Curiouslycharlie



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Comfort/Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-24
Updated: 2013-07-24
Packaged: 2017-12-21 05:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,356
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/896199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Curiouslycharlie/pseuds/Curiouslycharlie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A three part fic from Isaac's point of view, taking place about a month after my first work, Youth. Isaac ends up alone at the McCall house and has a hard time dealing with it. Again, pretty angsty and fluffy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Timshel

When I awoke, the house was still. Finding myself yet again curled around Scott’s warm body, I smiled to his sleeping form, moving slowly to not accidentally awaken him. I rolled onto my back, stretching my arms wide, and waited for the waking tingles to subside. Mid-morning sunlight streamed in through the curtainless window and illuminated the tiny dust motes floating softly through the air. In the past month I’d become accustomed to these sights, and couldn’t believe a place so warm and calm was the place I now called home.

Rustling fabric broke the pleasant silence as I rolled my way back to Scott. Without the tension of worry on his face, he looked younger, more his age. It was a rare sight, but something I enjoyed completely. Caught between wanting to stay curled up beside him for as long as possible and knowing I couldn’t because Scott had work soon, I hesitated to disturb him. A sliver of anxiety worked its way between my lungs. I worried that If I woke him up I’d be bothering him, but if I let him sleep, he’d be late. I stayed, eyes frozen on his face, realizing that with each passing moment the reality of him not waking up on time was a great possibility due in whole to my selfishness.  
Then, as though he could hear my thoughts crashing against me in waves big enough to sweep me away, Scott’s eyes cracked open and he stirred, running a hand over his face and drowsily smiling over at me. Wholly relieved, I moved my head to his chest, using the rise and fall of his breaths to slow my own.  
“Maybe one of these days I’ll actually wake up on time.“ He mused, trailing his fingers up my spine, letting them rest lazily against my skin.  
“I was going to wake you up.” I mumbled.  
“Oh yeah?”  
“Yeah.”  
“And how were you going to do that?” He asked suggestively, my ears picking up the slight quickening of his pulse.  
“Telepathically.” I confessed. Scott’s chest shook with soft laughter. Glad that he was both awake and amused, I wrapped my limbs more tightly around his warm frame. His response was almost immediate, a needy movement of tangling himself around me and turning us over so he was above me instead.  
“Well,” he murmured against my neck, his breath flooding my body with pleasure. “Can you guess what I’m thinking about now?” Scott whispered hotly, kissing his way across my jaw. Before I could answer, his lips met mine, moving in a way that set my skin ablaze. Reaching for his waist I pulled him impossibly closer, not satisfied until I could think of nothing but the weight of his body and the scorch of his lips against mine. A quiet moan escaped him and he curled his fists into my hair, tugging gently.  
“Scott, if you don’t get up right now-” Scott’s mom burst into the room, juggling a purse, a lunch bag, and Scott’s motorbike helmet in her hands. At the sound of his mother’s voice Scott flew out of bed at a speed I would have previously guessed not physically possible. I sat up quickly, trying to gather the comforter into my lap without attracting too much attention to that area, relieved that Scott didn’t seem to be having the same problem. My cheeks burned out of embarrassment and I looked to him, unable to face his mom.  
 _“Really?”_ She exclaimed, pressing two fingers to the bridge of her nose. Obviously agitated, she shook her head, struggling for words. “You know what? I really don’t care. One of the other nurses called in sick again so I have to cover her shift...” Dumping the helmet on the table by the door, she sped away, still talking to herself about how she was sure _‘a hangover wasn’t synonymous with being sick._ ’ For a moment we listened to her collect the rest of her various work-related items that were strewn around the house before she hastily jogged to her car, at which point Scott exhaled a huge breath I hadn’t realized he’d been holding. A heavy weight settled in the pit of my stomach.  
“I’m sorry.” I blurted. This wasn’t the first time we’d been caught in a heavy make out session, but it was the first time I’d witnessed Melissa so upset with Scott. I felt terrible.  
Sitting next to me on the bed, Scott took my face in his hands.  
“Don’t apologize, she’s just stressed about work. Besides,” He paused to press his lips to mine. “I think it was totally worth it.” He finished and pulled me into a different kind of kiss, softer and more reassuring than before.  
With a small smile he released me, jumping up so he could get ready. For a while I watched him, the way he stumbled slightly while yanking on his pants or became so entangled in his shirt that I had to pull him free. It was a wonder he made it this far without breaking something. Then again, maybe he hadn’t. Grabbing his keys from his desk, he turned to me.  
“You’ll be okay while I’m gone?”  
Every time he left, he asked that question. Maybe not in the same way, but the same meaning was behind his words, the same concern showed, blatantly obvious. I was shocked, though I should have been used to it by now, that he really cared that much about me.  
“I’ll be great.” I assured him. And at that point, I was totally convinced I was telling the truth.

* * *

Following my usual routine, I crossed the room to pick up one of Scott’s many worn paperbacks, taking in how empty things seemed now with him gone. It always took a bit of adjusting to the sudden lack of boundless excitable energy, it was always a bit jarring. I slid back in between the bedsheets and opened the book to one of the many dog-eared pages. I was never quite sure which one of us had marked the pages so when I was finished skimming the page I made sure to refold the corner.  
Sometimes it made me feel closer to him. Sometimes I liked to just flip through the pages and see which passages he’d underlined and wonder what he’d been thinking when he’d done that. Sometimes I just needed something to pass the time until his mom would nearly drag me downstairs for lunch, at which point she would ask me, again, if I needed anything, ranging from clothes, to food, to condoms. The latter of which, when she‘d asked me about, I’d nearly choked on my sandwich over.  
It was a comfortable sort of routine, ending with us watching TV in the living room. Sometimes I’d bring one of Scott’s books down to read while we sat quietly, and sometimes Scott’s mom and I kept up a light conversation over what was on or who was driving her nuts at work, until Scott would tumble in the front door and excitedly drop his coat and bag on the floor before flopping down beside me on the couch. It was nice.  
So yes, staying home was pretty great. But when I was just sliding back in between the sheets and enjoying the way they smelled just like Scott’s skin, I noticed it wasn’t a usual day. The house was almost deafeningly quiet, devoid of the usual cacophony of clanking coffee mugs, the television, the vacuum as Scott’s mom caught up on some of the house chores, muttering about all the dirt Scott and I tracked in.  
My throat constricted, my mouth suddenly unpleasantly dry. I had never been here alone. There would be no noise to push away the memories I’d been trying so hard to move past, no late-afternoon bonding time to get me out of Scott’s room.  
I brought my knees up to my chest, pressing my face against them. I could feel the panic rising, the blood rushing in my ears.  
“Scott,” I choked out, but I knew he was too far gone to hear me.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so that was that! Thank you for reading!
> 
> I titled this work after Timshel by Mumford & Sons because I think a few of the lyrics really apply to this story, and this chapter is titled after I'm on Fire by Bruce Springsteen (I love the Whitehorse cover almost as much as the Mumford and Sons cover though, hnng). Anyway, let me know what you think, I love comments and reviews, and they encourage me to write faster. =D
> 
> (Also, I'm having issues with formatting. Is there no way to indent? So frustrating!)


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